


IV. The Umbrella Academy's Last Public Appearance

by BubblyWashingMachine



Series: Every Little Hurt Counts [febuwhump 2021] [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Being Impaled, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Crying, FebuWhump2021, Febuwhump, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Impaling, POV Outsider, burning building, febuwhumpday4, made my beta cry a little bit, not emotionally but like for real actually being impaled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyWashingMachine/pseuds/BubblyWashingMachine
Summary: When Malorie had planned this relaxing Sunday trip, she hadn’t been expecting the art gallery to be attacked by some supervillain. She also hadn't accounted for the possibility of said art gallery to be on fire and collapsing around her.“Listen. You need – to go,” she rasps to the young boy hovering over her.“I’m going to save you,” he says nervously, eyes flicking up. He is brimming with anxious energy – he looks like someone who worries a lot. “Look, ma’am – what’s your name?”“Malorie,” she says.“Okay, Malorie. I’m Ben."...The Umbrella Academy's last mission, as seen from the perspective of one unsuspecting civilian.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Everyone
Series: Every Little Hurt Counts [febuwhump 2021] [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137428
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	IV. The Umbrella Academy's Last Public Appearance

**Author's Note:**

> As promised: real whump this time
> 
> RIP i am so sorry about the name it's emma's fault i couldn't think of anything better   
> Edit: I changed it I was too embarrassed. If anyone read this while it was still called Calamari Kebab. No you didn't 💖
> 
> also this features an OC for outsider POV purposes, she's not like, super important, but i really wanted to get the feeling of what if would be like to just be some random middle-aged lady caught up in all this supervillain stuff, you know? whatever
> 
> i don't know how police things work and i've never been in a burning building. or been impaled. so this might not be accurate

“Oh, shit. S _hit_ ,” Malorie hisses to herself, doing an awkward crouch-walk against the wall in her attempt to - get this – _escape_ from an art gallery.

Granted, when she had planned this relaxing Sunday trip, she hadn’t been expecting the art gallery to be attacked by some supervillain. She also hadn't accounted for the possibility of said building to be on fire and collapsing around her. 

One long hallway to go.

Sweating, swearing, and trying to tune out the strange booming sounds and shrieking that echoes around the old building, she just hopes to get out safely. Malorie is not ready to die here today.

“ _All art shall burn_!” screams a distant man’s voice.

The smoke is making it very hard to see – Malorie starts coughing, and thinks absently, _that’s not good._

Her camera, a fancy video one her daughter, Liza, had bought her for Christmas – a much better gift that the ‘nutrition bullet’ or whatever that thing was, Malorie did _not_ need a diet, thank you very much -- swings heavily around her neck like a pendulum. She considers that it might be smarter to leave it behind. She immediately decides she won’t be doing that.

Suddenly, two concerning things happen simultaneously.

The first: a group of young children in school uniforms come running into the building from the door Malorie is trying to reach. She tries to yell at them to _get out_ , but only starts coughing harder, her vision blurring. She leans up against the wall for a moment to catch her breath.

The second: there’s a cracking noise from above, and her head snaps up to see the wooden beams that looked so beautiful reinforcing the hallway’s high arched ceilings, are definitely on fire, and are probably about to fall on her head.

She needs to get out of this building. Malorie, slumped against the wall, starts pushing her way forward with more energy, pulling her scarf over her mouth and nose.

The closer she gets to the door, the more she can hear what the children are saying. They appear to be arguing.

“We need to save the civilians first!” One child yells. “That should be our first—"

“If we put out the fire, then—”

“The Pyro-Maniac is somewhere in the building, we can’t let him escape; we have to find him.”

“I’m the leader, and I’m telling you that putting out the fire is our first course of action, so just stop arguing and _fall in line_! We’re wasting time!”

“Argh! You think you’re so much b-better—”

“Guys, I can’t believe you’re doing this right now! There are reporters outside, not to mention _Dad_!”

“Well Dad put _me_ in charge, which means—”

“UGH!”

Their confusing bickering starts to reach a whole new level, until they’re all yelling at the same time. Malorie has almost reached them by now, and she wheezes, “Kids, get out of here, the roof-!”

Cut off by another round of coughing, she doubles over. _I’m going to die,_ she thinks with clarity. _Those kids are going to die._

“Let’s just split up – I’m going to do the right thing and—”

“Give it up already!”

As the children scatter, running in different directions into the building, Malorie hears another crack from the ceiling, and looks up to see the beam directly above her dangling precariously, ready to fall like a pin-drop onto the unlucky soul beneath. That unlucky soul happens to be Malorie.

It’s going to break any second, but she doesn’t have the energy to move. _I’m sorry, Liza,_ she despairs.

“Ma’am? Ma’am!”

The sound of a young voice reaches through the fog of her brain. The mother in Malorie takes over and she forces her eyes to open. She sees a small boy standing above her. _Why is he wearing a_ _mask?_ She wonders to herself.

“Oh excellent, you’re alive. I’m going to help you get out – that beam’s about to fall,” he says in a softer voice, and he grabs her arm roughly and starts to drag her, but Malorie, well, she’s maybe a bit out of shape, and he can hardly move her. Maybe that ‘nutrition bullet’ wouldn’t have been such a bad idea, she thinks mournfully. “Hello, ma’am? Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” she croaks, clutching his hand. “But kid – leave me and – get out – dangerous. You gotta – get out!”

He ignores her, throwing his arms around her and frantically scrambling to try and drag her. “Can you get up?”

“Listen. You need – to go,” she tells him, gasping.

“I’m going to save you,” he says nervously, eyes flicking up. He is brimming with anxious energy – he looks like someone who worries a lot. Liza used to be a lot like that, Malorie thinks fondly. “Look, ma’am – what’s your name?”

“Malorie,” she says.

“Okay, Malorie. I’m Ben,” the kid replies quickly. “Now, Malorie, can you please close your eyes, I’m going to pull you out of here but I—”

As Malorie is about to interrupt, confused, her head throbbing – this kid is nice, but he needs to just leave her and save himself, instead of wasting precious time dragging her out –

The sound of splintering wood fills the room.

“Ah, shit,” The boy squeaks.

And something big and _fast_ bursts out of his chest – _that can’t be right –_ Malorie squeezes her eyes closed, and feels something wrap around her ankle and pull. She shrieks, of course, an ugly, full-bellied sound, as she is tossed through the air – well maybe that’s a bit dramatic – and is finally released, tumbling to the floor.

She opens her eyes, stinging in the smoke, and gasps out, “Kid, wh—”

The child, Ben, seems to have been thrown away, and he’s not looking at her, his head thrown up and mouth open in a heart-wrenching scream that is cut off as he is impaled through the stomach by the falling beam.

_Crunch._

Malorie screams then, too, and brings her hands up to her face. That can’t have – she must be – no—

The floor creaks and crackles dangerously beneath them.

She finds her strength – either the flames are dying down or she really is hallucinating – and drags herself over to his side, yelling absolute incoherent nonsense. “Stay awake, kid, oh my God, oh God, SOMEONE HELP! SOMEONE—” she starts hacking again, her throat burning. _Oh, God._

“Guh---” Ben chokes out, his mouth opening and closing. “Wh—” He moans, his face so pale.

“Stay awake,” she begs, uselessly. There is no worse injury than this. There is no hope. “Just wait. Hold on. Please.”

His lips form the shape of words. But there is no air in his lungs to give them sound, and though she leans down as close as she can, tries to listen, begs the universe – he says nothing. And then he stops.

“Just, wait,” she bawls. He can’t hear her, she knows.

She can’t even see his eyes because of the mask.

All around him, there are these – wriggling, flopping _things,_ that coil and twitch like the legs of a dying spider. They spill out, long and twisted, from around where the beam - the beam has – Malorie gags violently, heaving. _Oh, God._ “Kid – B-Ben, look at me, hold on.”

He doesn’t respond. With fumbling, shaking fingers, she tears the mask away from his eyes.

Ben stares at the ceiling with hollow, wet eyes.

“Ben? Kid! Just – look at me!”

She finds herself sobbing, barely aware of what she’s doing. She touches the boy’s small cheek, trembling, and tilts his head towards her. His eyes stay open, and she leaves a horrible red smear on his face. Malorie cries harder.

The flames are definitely dying now, and distantly Malorie resisters more shouting and sirens from outside, but her ears are rushing. She clutches the boy’s hand tightly, willing him to look at her, to move, but he barely twitches, the monster legs – tentacles? – writhing around him in one last flurry of movement before they too go still.

Tentacles. She remembers him, now, maybe. It’s the mask – she saw it on TV once. Him and his siblings – she doesn’t know why it only occurred to her now.

Her knees are wet, Malorie thinks. Blood-slick. She’s surrounded by a pool of it, that creeps out wider every second. The mask lies abandoned in the pool. There can’t surely be that much blood in one little boy, she wonders faintly, and then thinks, _God, I’m going to be sick._

Vaguely, she registers that other people have surrounded her, but it’s like there is a wall of cotton wool between her and them. A fuzzy TV screen.

“ _Ben_? _BEN_!” A child is screaming. Maybe multiple children.

Malorie can’t tear her eyes away from Ben’s slack face.

Someone wrenches her arm, drags her away. “Get away from him!”

She finds herself face-to-face with another masked child, a blond one, and it’s like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over her. This is one of his siblings. Her arm screams with pain where he is holding her.

The boy yells, “What happened? What did you _do_!”

“The – the beam, fell,” Malorie says stupidly. She should be taking control, be looking after these kids – they need to get out. She’s the adult. The mother. But it feels like her brain and her mouth are miles away from each other. “I couldn’t – he pushed me out of the way,” she rasps.

The boy takes a step back, jaw clenched so tight it looks painful. He lets go of her arm suddenly, and seems to be panicking. Hyperventilating. “Right. Okay. We need – I need – Dad’s outside, I have to—”

“Sh-sh-shut th-the f-fu-fuck up, Luther!” Another boy screams, raw. He is sitting in the red pool, cradling Ben’s head in his arms. Crouching beside him, a girl with a wild nest of curly hair cries loudly, her hands over her face. “Th-this is a-all y-yo-y- _your_ _f-fault_!”

When the boys’ arguing escalates, Malorie blocks it out, stumbling back. She doesn’t want to intrude. Where are the authorities? Their father? Someone needs to get them out of here. They need – a psychiatrist. Or _something._

One child stands apart from the rest, hovering uselessly just like Malorie is. He just stands there, lanky arms hanging, and looks around the destroyed room wildly, grimacing and muttering to himself. Like he’s waiting for something, or someone. Probably his father, Malorie thinks. Oh, these poor children.

Finally, the fire brigade and police burst in. Far too late. Most disturbingly, she sees reporters lurking outside, the bright white flashing of cameras jolting her to her senses.

She grates out, “A boy – a boy has been seriously injured. You need – his father – you need to get those reporters out of here. Get an ambulance. A paramedic.” So many words burn in her throat, but she chokes them out anyway to the police officer.

Pointless, a voice in her head supplies. He’s dead.

The policewoman takes one look at the scene, at the fire brigade and stoic officers buzzing around and forcing the children up and away while they kick and fight and scream, and says into her radio, “Can I get a clean-up crew in here?”

“No – he needs a—” Malorie’s voice finally gives up, and the woman puts a hand on her back and points her in the direction of outside. She doesn’t feel that she can leave them. Leave Ben.

“An ambulance is on its way,” she says sympathetically. “You’ve inhaled a lot of smoke. Go outside.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Malorie sees the blond boy fighting the police officer who is gripping the curly-haired girl. She sees him snap the police officer’s arm clean in two.

 _But the children,_ Malorie wants to say, but she can’t. She coughs so hard that her vison goes black.

A paramedic finally takes her away, and she twists around, tries to see the other children. The crowd buzzes and swarms, and she catches just one last glimpse of Ben’s pale face and wide, unseeing eyes, and the smudge of red on his cheek, before she stumbles outside.

In the bright sunlight, covering her ears because of the clicking of cameras, she sees what everyone else sees, and what will be on tomorrow’s front page – four distraught teenagers are manhandled into a car, red faced and tear-streaked, shouting and blaming and brawling.

The Umbrella Academy’s last ever public appearance.

**Author's Note:**

> um ouch. sorry


End file.
